//------------------------------// // Chapter 1 // Story: Brothers Through Bloodshed // by Ozzeh //------------------------------//         He took a deep breath, taking extra time to close his eyes and exhale slowly. The world around him stopped turning for that brief second before everything caught back up to him, and he opened his eyes once more. He was a soldier again, and that’s all he ever would be. A soldier.         He glanced at the card held in his hooves, despite having memorized it already, wanting to occupy his mind. He silently mouthed the text written upon it: Sergeant Text Script Elicolt 108th Marine Regiment, 3rd Battalion Report to Lieutenant Whooves upon arrival         The jeep slowed to a halt, the driver nodding at his preoccupied passenger. Elicolt opened the door; the sun bore down upon him with a blinding, sudden fury. He raised a hoof in an attempt to shield his eyes from the glare. Around him, troop carriers sat idling in precisely organized columns. The whir of all of the engines droned out all noise as he was approached by a familiar face. “Well, if it isn't Sergeant Elicolt,” Lieutenant Whooves yelled over the engines, “another term of service, eh?” “Yeah. Duty calls, I guess.” He smiled at his superior officer. Other soldiers began to pile into the trucks, only adding to the flurry of noise. “Alright, well, I managed to get you back into your old squad...” The lieutenant paused for a moment. “What’s left of it, anyway.” He pointed a hoof to one of the trucks with a few ponies loading onto it. Text had more questions, but the thrumming engines drowned out all other noise, rendering the attempt futile. Soldiers conversed amongst themselves, filing into their appropriate carriers as Text wove through them, searching for his own designated transport. “Well, shit, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!” A familiar voice caught his attention. It was an old friend he'd been looking forward to seeing again. “Welcome back, sarge!” A hoof was extended from the bed of the truck; Text took it, glad for the opportunity to catch up on lost time. “Hey, Baritone! I hear you’re a corporal now?” He chuckled, holding the offered hoof and hoisting himself across from his friend. “Yeah, and my term is almost done, too. ‘Bout time I get out of this hellhole.” He gestured to nothing in particular. Text looked around the truck, but didn't recognize anypony else. He shot the corporal a quizzical expression. "Oh, yeah...  Last week we got jumped. Copper got it real bad, and Autumn... didn't make it." He said, his last few words seeming to linger in the air. Everything drew silent as the truck started forward violently, causing it’s contents to jolt back slightly. Text broke the awkward silence, “We heading back to camp, then?” “Nope. Our squad was ‘picked’ for a quick patrol. Don’t worry ‘bout it, though. Just some ghost town in the middle of buckin’ nowhere. Ponyville, I think it’s called. Poor little town got torn to shreds from the bombing, so it should be clear.” Baritone grabbed his rifle off of his back and rested it against his leg, leaning up against his seat in the transport. Text just nodded.         Text got a closer look at the stallion sitting across from him. He was geared up just as they all were, bullet-resistant padding on the chest and legs, with his matching helmet of a brown and gray camouflage. On the middle of his chest was a shining badge, with flowing colors and a large REA scrawled across the middle. He remembered how excited he was when he got that badge when he first enlisted two years ago. He didn’t wait for the army to draft him, oh no. He wanted to fight for his country, for his freedom. But he wasn’t a soldier then. He was a soldier now, and that’s all he ever would be.          Corporal Baritone stood up onto his hind legs, stretching his body out and taking off his helmet to get more comfortable. Text remembered how excited he was when he first got his surgery. They told him he’d be able to walk on just two legs, and he’d be able to fire a weapon. He’d be bipedal. He’d be a soldier. He took another deep breath. “I wanted to be a writer, you know.” Text whispered, staring at the wooden planks which made up the truck’s bed. Baritone lifted his head, taken aback by his friend’s statement. “Oh, yeah?” he asked, pointing at the treble clef on his flank. “Musician.” Text looked down at his own cutie mark to see the same quill that had always rested there, reminding him what he was meant to do. What he was supposed to do. War was a funny thing.         The truck grinded to a halt, causing it’s contents to shift again. The driver pounded on the wall behind him, signalling them to unload. Text jumped out first, checking his gear and addressing his soldiers.   “Alright guys, just a quick patrol and we’re out of here. No bucking around, and stick to your ranks. Delta squad, we’ll be sweeping the town square. Sergeant Pestle, take Echo squad and patrol the outside. ” Text made a circle on the invisible map in front of him with his hoof. “Let’s get this over with. Move out!”          Soldiers piled out of the truck, moving in the directions their respective orders indicated. To Text’s surprise, only two other ponies joined him and his Corporal. “Yeah, they just got shipped in yesterday. This is their first time in the field.  Private Mace and Private Hammer.” Baritone whispered to him, gesturing to the two young stallions who conversed amongst themselves quietly, “They’re both buddies from the Broncs. You want me to rough ‘em up a bit?”  Text smiled and nodded. “Go for it.” With that signal, Baritone stood up on his hind legs and approached the two Privates. He pushed them each away from each other aggressively. “Alright, break it up, buck-faces. This is a war. Since you two are new here, go take point.” He pushed Private Mace forward. “Yeesh, chill out, bro.” Private Hammer mumbled in a heavy Broncs accent, following his friend forward. Baritone and Elicolt just smiled at each other.         The patrol began quietly, with the two newcomers still conversing amongst themselves in front of Text. The town was dead, most buildings reduced to rubble. Those that still stood were merely burnt shells of their former selves. They made their way down a quiet street, heading for the town square. Each of them walked on all four hooves with their rifle slung across their back, ready be used at a moment’s notice. “It’s all bullshit anyways. None of this shit makes any goddamn sense.” Private Mace spoke up. “There’s no reason to do any of this ‘patrolling.’ We have the firepower, why not just level this bucking town and get it over with?” His friend nodded to signify his agreement. “Hey! Eyes peeled! Both of you!” Text called out, only to be ignored. “Calm down, dude. Ain’t nothing around this shit that I should be worried about. Nothin’ alive, anyway.” His rant continued. “Even if there was, we’re just walking out in the middle of the bucking open like this. What use is that?” Private Hammer nodded at his friend, cracking a smile. This only egged his friend to continue, louder. “Seriously! We’re just sitting ducks out here!” He yelled out, standing on his hind legs to add emphasis. “For buck’s sake, why don’t we just yell ‘Hey, Rebels! Take your bucking shot!’”          At that moment, a loud crack broke the emptiness of the city, immediately followed by a sickening thwack. The pony in front of Text fell immediately, spattering blood all over Text. Droplets flew into his unprotected eyes, burning them with a fierce sting. His instincts as a soldier kicked in as he dove for the nearest cover: the remains of a building that was reduced to rubble. He immediately checked to make sure he was unharmed and wiped a hoof across his face, cleaning off the blood of his fallen comrade. He turned around to see, as expected, Corporal Baritone hunkered down behind him. “Sniper! You got eyes?” “No, I don’t see him. Don’t risk it. Go find Echo Squad and get them the hell outta here.” He waved a hoof at his Corporal, who nodded and ran off. He turned his attention back to the street, at the dead pony sprawled across the ground. A pool of blood was forming under what was left of his head. Private Hammer was knelt down next to the dead pony, shell-shocked from the event. He prodded at the carcass before him. “You...you’re okay...It’s just a flesh wound...It’s okay....we’re all going to be okay.” The stallion began to sob into an emotional breakdown. “Private! Get the fuck over here!” Text waved his hoof violently in a state of urgency that went completely ignored. Hammer began to shake violently between sobs before collapsing to the ground. “Damn it.” Text swore quietly to himself, standing onto his hind legs and running over to the immobile soldier shaking on the ground. He picked him up, slinging him across his back. “No...n-no...we’re all just fine. We’ll be okay.”  The pony whispered, still shaking across his back. Text began to run for cover, only to be stopped short. A loud crack broke out again, immediately followed by an intense, sharp stinging in his right leg. The pain threw him off balance, and he collapsed to the ground. The squadmate he was carrying had been catapulted forward, padded gear protecting the flailing soldier as he tumbled on the ground.          The pony in front of Text slowly rose, still shaking. He turned around and looked at his Sargent, his face twisted in sheer terror. Text outstretched a hoof, pain overwhelming his whole body. Hammer shook his head, tears streaming down his face. The last thing Text saw before everything faded away was the Private running off in the distance.         Magnum Hawkeye, stone cold killer. At first, he took pride in his title. He was the best of the best at what he did; an elite assassin. Lately, however, the honor and pride of it had worn off, and he began to think of himself as a heartless murderer. It was his job, though, and it was what he was meant to do.          He looked down at his cutie mark; the same crosshairs on his flank that he expected to see resting there. He took a deep breath.          He took a seat at his desk, brushing his mane out of his eyes and turning on the radio. The same Celestia-driven propaganda filled his ears; what he’d grown to expect after 3 years. He loosely listened to the radio as he got up to stretch. One line lingered in his mind: The Rebels are beginning to fall back, as the... the radio announcer’s voice droned on, but it made Magnum think for a moment. Of course they would be labeled as rebels. The Royal Equestrian Army wouldn't dare allow them be acknowledged with a proper title. They didn’t see the New Lunar Republic as a threat, so they just label them as terrorists; a mere nuisance on the back of the almighty REA. And if they were labeled as terrorists, they were terrorists, as far as the public was concerned. The media was so eager to paint the NLR in a bad light, that the public could never be shown the truth. They were the bad guys, and the REA were the good guys.         Magnum took another deep breath, turning around to look out the window. He saw the usual decimated city that had been laid to waste long ago, enveloped whole by the war, with not even the most insignificant building having been spared. He was in one of the few stable buildings left, a 2-story building that had somehow missed the center of the bombing. It was no home, though, just another hideout. Just another temporary structure until his cover is blown again or the building gets destroyed.         Suddenly, a rapid movement caught his trained eye. Two stallions rounded the corner down the street, shortly followed by two more. They were all dressed in matching brown and gray camouflage, with a rifle slung across each of their backs. They were completely oblivious to the pony standing a few blocks down, looking out a window. Magnum smiled at his stroke of luck.         He quickly stood up and rushed to his closet, opening it to find it empty besides a large sniper-rifle leaning against the side. He seized it immediately, untucking the bi-pod located on the bottom of the weapon and rushing to the window. Setting the bi-pod on the windowsill, Magnum removed the scope cover and cocked the bolt-action rifle in one fluent, professional motion. He took aim down the sights, centering himself at the front pony, who was flailing his front hooves around as he seemed to rant about something to the soldier next to him. The pony suddenly stood up onto his hind legs, giving Magnum a better line of sight. He couldn’t stop a smile from creeping onto his face as he took aim at the obnoxious pony’s head. Lights out, he thought, pulling the trigger.         The same crack rang out from his rifle he’d gotten used to hearing as he pulled out to cock the bolt action, not bothering to check if he hit his target. He didn’t need to. He was a professional.         He looked down his sight again to see what was left of his original target, sprawled across the middle of the street. To his surprise, however, the soldier he had been talking to was kneeling next the the body, prodding at it and saying things Magnum couldn’t make out. He took aim at the stallion’s head, but decided against it. He knew from experience a better opportunity would arise.         He was right. Moments later, another soldier made a run for his comrade on the street, picking him up and putting him on his back. Magnum took aim, but had little time to take the shot before the soldier reached cover again. He fired and watched as his target collapsed to the ground. The pony he had been carrying scrambled off into the distance. Magnum grinned as he folded up the bi-pod on his rifle and replaced the cap on the scope, gently placing it in the closet. He grabbed his sidearm off of his desk as he trotted down the stairs.         Magnum approached the mess on the street, inspecting the dead stallion in the middle. There was a rather extensive amount of blood pooling around the head, making Magnum frown in disgust. He preferred the clean, silent kill, but this would have to do. He made his way towards the other pony, who was unconscious, but breathing. A small amount of blood was leaking onto the street from his wound on his right-hind leg. Magnum noticed the patch on the soldier’s right foreleg, signifying his rank as Sargent. He raised his pistol, aiming at the Sargent's head, offering to end his misery. Something stopped him, however. Something nagging in the back of his head, telling him what he was doing was wrong. He’d heard the voice before, and it had only recently appeared with his doubt for his talent. Never before had it stopped him from doing something, though. The pony below him began to stir, only causing Magnum’s mind to split more. One side screamed at him to end the soldiers life, like he was meant to do. Like he was born to do. The other side told him to stop, told him that the innocent pony before him did nothing wrong and didn’t deserve death.          The pony before him began to regain consciousness, slowly turning his head to make eye contact with Magnum. He could feel the soldier’s breath become rapid, eyes showing pure fear of death.         Text opened his eyes, the pain nearly unbearable in his leg. He immediately noticed a shadow draped before him. He slowly turned around, making eye contact with a mysterious pony, who was holding a gun pointed right at his head. Text’s heart pumped rapidly, knowing death was imminent. He waited for a moment that seemed to creep into its own self-contained infinity, anticipating the final 'bang' that would prelude his eternal rest. To his surprise, the pony just sighed, slowly lowering his weapon. Text's vision blurred as he began the descent into unconsciousness. The last thing he felt before finally losing that internal struggle was somepony picking him up and carrying him off.